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  Piglets five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten were creating mayhem in the hen pen. Hens screamed and squawked, racing around as if their heads had been cut off, with the pigs in merry pursuit.

  Callie Anne Hayes opened the front door of the big house, stepped onto the wraparound porch, and beheld all this in disbelief.

  One day away from a highly anticipated spring season of the Blue Flame Guest Ranch, a season she’d carefully orchestrated to be flawless…just one day. Clearly, things had been going too smoothly. Hen feathers flew through the air. Dust and dirt rose in a cloud, and above it all came the incredible sound of pigs in heaven and hens in hell.

  Amazingly enough, Shep slept on at the bottom of the stairs, oblivious. Callie nudged the old shepherd’s hindquarters, but he just kept snoring.

  Callie sighed, and eyeing pigs chasing hens chasing pigs, lifted the walkie-talkie at her hip. “The piglets are on the loose and destroying everything in sight. The latch must have broken. Help pronto, please.”

  She got nothing back. “Tucker? Stone? Eddie? Marge? A little help?”

  Still, no one answered, but at least she knew why. This was her crew’s last day off. Tomorrow they had a large group of Japanese businessmen coming in, and directly on their heels, a group of Tucson librarians, and then some professional football cheerleaders on break from the various teams they cheered for. After that, a reunion for a group of nine sisters, and then some frat boys. In fact, for the foreseeable future, the Blue Flame was nicely booked.

  Knowing that, everyone had made their last day their own, and if she knew her crew, they’d all escaped at the crack of dawn that morning so she couldn’t find something to keep them busy.

  Which left her on little piggy detail. She headed down the stairs. The two little guys on the grass first, she decided. They had to be caught before they destroyed the new, tender shoots. She chased them around a large Arizona oak, where the two piglets ran smack into each other, and then sat stunned. Scooping one under each arm, she marched them back to their pen. Brushing herself off, she went to shut the gate, figuring she’d duct tape it for now if she had to, but the latch wasn’t broken at all.

  Whoever had fed them their slop this morning must have gotten lazy. “Damn it, Tucker.” He was one of her youngest employees but the twenty-year-old was usually much more vigilant than this.

  Bracing herself, she turned around to go about the next capture, assisted now by Goose, an oversized, bossy female Pilgrim goose they kept around as a sort of mascot who ran the grassy area and front walk like a drill sergeant. Together they corralled the pigs while Shep slept on, and thirty minutes later there was only one stubborn little piglet left to nab. He was currently running from her as fast as his short little legs would carry him, his curlicue tail swinging around madly as he squealed loud enough to wake the dead.

  She chased him around the large front yard, gritting her teeth as he led her back over the baby grass, followed by a honking Goose, who hated it when anyone happened onto “her” grass. Around the trees again, and then toward the water pump and hose at the side of the house, which one of the little pigs had already destroyed. Callie pictured a new account in her expenses this month labeled Ridiculous Costs and cringed.

  To complicate matters, someone had left the hose on, and by the looks of things, water had been leaking all night, turning the entire area to mud.

  The little piglet stopped to enjoy the sloppy mess, joyfully rubbing its snout in it. When it saw Callie coming, it prepared to run.

  And to think she’d thought today had had perfection written all over it, the beginning of spring, a new time for the ranch, where she’d hopefully prove that the Blue Flame was worth every second of stress it caused the current owner—that is if Jake Rawlins ever even gave this place a second of his thoughts, period. She’d bet her last dollar he didn’t, which really ate at her because she’d give her left arm to own the Blue Flame.

  But that was a worry for another day. Not today. Today was to be her calm before the storm, and if it hadn’t been for the out-of-control pigs, she wouldn’t have been able to take her eyes off her surroundings. God, she loved this place, where people could come to relax on a ranch setting, or join in and work it alongside her ranch crew.

  The Blue Flame had been the first real home she’d ever had, and it held her heart, her soul, her very inner spirit. She scanned the three hundred and sixty degree vista around her. At an altitude of five thousand feet, the hundred square miles of national forest around her had been unchanged for centuries, probably longer. The Dragoon and Chiricahua Mountains, the Sulphur Springs Valley, the stories of Cochise, of his Chiricahua Apache braves, the legends of Geronimo, the feast of the Buffalo Soldiers…so much history right here.

  In fact, the big house behind her had its own history. Once upon a time it’d been a country farmhouse for an early settler and his Indian wife, but now it was where their guests stayed in quaint rooms and shared meals together. The place reflected the air of the Old West, meaning rugged, which was more by necessity than design. It was actually in desperate need of renovation, but they hid that behind all the warm, friendly service they offered.

  The house sat on a slight hill, overlooking the rest of the ranch. The large wooden deck housed their hot tub, all cleaned and ready for use. Each bedroom was neat and clean as well, and decorated with individual furnishings, all in poor farmhouse chic. The heart of the house was the living room, where ranch hands and guests alike all gathered. There was a large brick hearth there for long winter evenings, and the place looked hopefully inviting despite the fact they hadn’t replaced the scarred hardwood flooring last year because profits hadn’t allowed for it.

  But this year would be different. As ranch manager, Callie had spent long nights working on their website. She’d scrimped in every way possible to spend more money on advertising, and as a result they were getting more bookings every week.

  A surge of excitement went through her, as it did every time she thought about the Blue Flame slowly turning itself around from the dump it’d been two years ago; and she knew she’d had a big hand in that.

  She moved up on the wayward piglet. “Stay right there,” Callie said softly, coming up on him, hands out. “Just stay right there…” She dove for him, at the exact moment the cell phone at her hip rang.

  With a squeal, the pig ran off, and Callie landed in the mud, arms empty. Lifting her head, she wiped her face off on her sleeve and reached back for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Callie. I’d like to book a room.”

  Sprawled on her stomach, filthy now, Callie went absolutely still. That voice. She hadn’t heard it in a good long while, but she hadn’t forgotten it.

  It belonged to Jake Rawlins, the one man who had the ability to destroy her perfect life, to have her at his mercy with five short words— “I’m selling the Blue Flame.” He was the only man who could drive her crazy, and the last man to have seen her naked.

  She’d rather chase fifty more piglets than talk to him. “You need a room? Why?”

  “Why?” He gave off a soft laugh that both grated and thrilled. “Because I thought I’d come stay for a while. Get some pampering.”

  Pampering. No one knew better than she that Jake had an overabundance of charm and charisma, and thought nothing of using said charm and charisma to get a woman in his bed.…Only a man like Jake would think of coming to a dude ranch to be pampered.

  God, she hated to think back to that night of Richard’s funeral service. Grief-stricken at the loss of her boss, her mentor, the man who’d once saved her life, she’d contacted his son. She had picked Jake up at the airport, driven him to the church, taken him back to the Blue Flame.

  His first time there.

  She’d mistaken his low, husky voice for anguish, his quiet, confident movements for ease in his surroundings, and over a bottle of aged whiskey, had thought she’d found a soul mate to grieve with.

  She’d really like to blame what had happene